Lingering
by Irene T447
Summary: Midna tries to determine what her feelings towards Link are while she asks him nonsense questions. MidLink. An experiment in the second person. Writing Prompt: Huge Flood plus Animals.


You watch him pace in a circle, swinging his arms boyishly. It's enough to make you smile –no, _smirk_ – because despite having the crushing weight of saving two worlds from an insane usurper king and a reincarnated demon lord's eternal wrath, there's still that untouched candle of joy eminent in his broad, handsome chest that fills you with such wonder at how on earth he could still be so _himself_ while fighting against all odds to save everyone else. His trousers are ripped; you wish he would get them fixed, not be so stingy with his rupees when half the time he looks like he rolled right off the dusty plateaus of Hyrule Field (he probably did) and you're secretly very vain and self conscious about the way he looks to other people. His green tunic and chainmail hang from his thinning frame in a way that makes you push extra platefuls of food his way whenever you can.

The hovering canopy speckles the ground with spade shaped droplets in the late afternoon light. He seems at home here, content. You yourself can't imagine how anyone could look this ridiculously happy immersed in the itchy, bug infested forests that smell too much like monkey. He removes his hat, wringing it between calloused fingers with that winning smile that says _aha! _with a sword flourish. Shoulders shrug, chainmail jingles.

"Oh, come on!" You say, because while he two of you are stuck here waiting he might as well humor you for once. He points to his wrist and you roll your eyes. "I've given you plenty of time to think. What have you got? The gods are flooding Hyrule and you can only save five beings. Who do you want to save?"

It's a benign question but an esoteric (and rather telling) one. You can't for the life of you remember where it came from or why it was ever important enough to you for you to even remember it in the first place. Maybe it's some joke to which you've completely forgotten the punchline. Or it could possibly be a riddle, though the biodiversity in the Twilight is so vastly different than in Hyrule the answer would be beyond his reach anyways. Where it came from and why really doesn't matter. You're too focused on what his response will be.

After weeks for travel, both on his back as a wolf or lingering in shadows through twilight and deserts and lakes and fields and what-have-you, you've gotten a sense of who he is…Yeah, he's the Hero dressed in green prophesized in legends to be eternally reborn and fight evil and a bunch of other cool crap that you should probably at least try to appreciate more considering said legend directly affects you. But as much as you want to make him all about _what _ he is rather than _who he _is, you know that's no longer possible. It took a few kidnapped children, a run in with Zant, two visits to Zelda and an outrageously dangerous archaeological hunt for the Fused Shadows and the Mirror, but you suddenly see _him_, and for some reason…you suddenly feel as if you never want him to leave your side. How selfish is that!

This conversation is completely out of the norm. Yes, when you ask him a question, he answers immediately and willingly in his own unique means of communication that consists almost entirely of gestures, grunts, and facial acrobatics. And yet it is always you talking _at him_, demanding a quick response. A "Do you want to turn into a wolf now?", or "What, are you lost?", and sometimes a "To where do you want to warp?". You realize that after all this time of talking at him about your own rambling thoughts and opinions and feelings, you've never really asked him about the things that matter to him. You assumed he was thinking and feeling the same things you thought and felt, and maybe it was because you said them out loud and heard no other voice.

So now, sitting here along the outskirts of the Faron Woods where the two of you first met, waiting for Fado to fetch Link new supplies, you find yourself with time, companionship, and an insatiable curiosity you can't quell.

What does he think of you, exactly?

You blame the Hylian Princess. Now that you've sucked up her soul, you also managed to suck up her insufferable sappiness and _emotions_.

He slides into a wide stance and lifts a booted foot, slamming it hard into the ground, raising dust. The corners of your lips twitch as he mashes his fists together, pushing his lips out ridiculously.

"A goron."

He nods and steps back, thinking. He prances in a circle, lips buzing, head shaking, that mop of snarled blonde hair splaying as he moves.

"Epona."

He steps back, thinking again. You're secretly amused at his choice and how silly it would be to have a horse on water. But because it's about his feelings and about what he cares about, it simply makes _sense_.

He makes his arms into a cradle and begins rocking.

"A child." His eyes squint, so you amend, "A baby."

He flashes a delightful grin and gives you a thumbs up. You turn your head to look annoyed just to cover up a genuine smile.

He begins making wide arched movements with his arms, though it is done with a gentleness and wide-eyed amazement and cheer that's difficult to place and sort of throws you off.

"A painter?" His eyes squint and he repeats the gesture. "A swordsman? Rusl?" He shakes his head again and your brow furrows.

He begins prancing like a horse again. "Epona," you acknowledge and he nods, jumping comically to the side and repeating the sweeping arm gesture.

"Someone to tend to your horse." A nod. You conclude, "Fado."

He sighs and waves his hands. _Cancel that._ Starting again, he places his hands behind his back and begins strolling demurely in a circle, gazing upwards at the skyline. It hits you then.

Like a ball of light magic to the stomach, it hits you, and you feel your cheeks color out of embarrassment.

"…Ilia…"You say the name and it sticks to your throat. You do your best to swallow as he enthusiastically nods. You feel your shoulders begin to slump, and there's a certain weight in your chest now you wish you could dislodge and dismiss with a graceful air of indifference.

But grace is something you currently lack, locked in this hideously disproportionate form – arms too long, feet too small, head way too big and a stomach like a bowling ball. It's almost enough to make your eyes want to water, because OF COURSE he would pick her. She loves the damn forest about as much as he does, and all of the little critters, including the smelly monkeys. He's known her for years, has had sufficient time to build an emotional relationship with her. Besides, even you have to admit she has her charm. No, she's not beautiful, but she's about twenty times prettier than you right now.

They are rather perfect together. You can see that in the way they both love that horse, Epona, and always do their best to help others in a display of goodwill you both admire and wish you could understand.

Besides…light and shadow; they can't mix. You've known this since before you could walk. It would never work; a thing between the two of you, so why are you even entertaining the notion?

And suddenly, as you ask yourself this question, you realize that you have been entertaining the notion, and this realization is enough to straighten your spine and harden your countenance. _Damn that Zelda…_

He's beaming at you and you don't know why. So you ask, a tad harshly, but then again, you've always been a touch harsh with him, "What?! What is it?"

He's still standing there, staring at you. It's beginning to make you uncomfortable, and you laugh and say, with every ounce of snark in your being, "Am I so beautiful that you've no words left?"

He just tilts his head and continues staring. He puts his arms out, and then you remember he's trying to address your question.

"An offering?" He sighs. "A sacrifice?" He shakes his head, dropping his arms. "Well, then, what is it?"

He points directly at your nose. You swivel around, look behind you, see nothing but the crumbling bark of an old tree.

"Me?"

He nods. You give him a blank look because now you're confused. Wait…what?

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended," you state, frankly.

He makes a horizontal slicing motion with a hand, shaking his head. _Neither. _He puts on a smile and points to it. _I want you to be happy._

"I see…so, why did you pick those beings to save?" you continue, crossing into the realm of 'the point of no return'. "The gods know the goron would be good for naught but sinking your ship."

He puts a hand up, palm facing skywards. _I don't really care._ He waggles a finger at you and crosses his arms, pacing. _It was never about that, though. Was it?_

"Hm. Pray tell."

He makes the sign for the goron, splays his hands and does a little jig. Then he puts a hand on his heart, traces a line to the sky. _Gorons are lively; one will keep up the morale. Keep us on track._

"Alright. I suppose Epona doesn't need any explanation, does she?" He shakes his head, grinning. You can't help but grin back. "And the baby?"

He places his hands together and you bob your head in understanding. "Ah, a reminder of innocence."

Both he and you pause, meeting each other's eyes. His are a sharp blue you'll never tire of gazing into. You wrestle the next words out of your mouth.

"And Ilia…" You watch him place a hand over his heart. **His heart**; where his emotions lay, his feelings and yearnings… "You love her," you say, your voice hardly above a whisper, because apparently strength has decided to flee your limbs. "I'm..glad."

He places a hand under his chin as if thinking, which you find awfully curious, but he nods.

"So you do love her."

A head tilt.

"I'm confused."

He places his hands on hips and studies the ground for a moment. You watch him, that peculiar weight still heavy in our hest. It's odd. A part of you want him to say yes, that he does love her. It's the logical, analytical part of you that tells you it's for the best. That way you can stop pursuing a hopeless cause. Because if –no! not if, _when. _ When this is all over, the Mirror of Twilight will have to be destroyed for good, and you'll no longer be a figure of this world.

_Light_ _and shadow can't mix. _

That other part of you, that very, very selfish part of you wants him to say otherwise. Because…well, is there even a because? Do you even know?

Perhaps you want to linger. You want to be remembered. You want him to love you and want you and cherish you rather than let you disappear and fade with the shadows. You want him to _know_ that you were (are!) real. And maybe you want confirmation that what you feel is real too, not just a figment of your imagination, or some longing of Zelda's, or even just a manifestation of the faith you've put into him.

He's offering his hand to you. You take it, morosely, waiting for him to break your heart into a thousand mirror fragments. He pulls you close, and suddenly your heart is in your ears, thundering, and your mouth won't form words, and all you can think about is how beautiful this moment feels and how you want to laugh, cry, and scream all at once.

The message is clear. _Quite clear_. And now you're terrified. You let him hold for this moment, that smell of sweat and rusty mountain, and grass stains and horse, and something that is distinctly _him _all lingering on you when you push away.

"Link…I…" you start to say. He stares at you with such intensity, those deep blue eyes filled with longing. It's…unbearable. "See you later." And you curl into his shadow.

You watch him slouch, pout, throw his fist into a rock and then clutch it again in pain. You have to keep repeating the mantra in your head.

_Light, shadow; can't mix. Light, shadow…_

It is utterly terrifying, this feeling. Knowing that all your hopes, dreams; your future, rides upon his success. And while that should make him nothing more than a tool to you, he is everything in the world to you. And now that you know, and now that you have your answers, all you want is for him to both live and be happy.

You're not going tell him – no, that would only distract him. He would try to convince you to stay, keep the Mirror intact, but that would only court disaster some centuries from now, and you're one to learn from past mistakes.

Regardless, the upcoming goodbye will be the hardest you've ever given in your entire life.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> From the 180 writing prompts I am doing with user Moonlight97. Check out Moonlight's stuff!

Writing Prompt: The earth is experiencing a huge flood. Luckily, you have a boat specifically designed to survive this flood. Experts believe that all the animals on the planet will die except for the ones you bring on the boat. Unfortunately, you only have room for five types of animals(or beings). Which five do you choose and why?

I totally circumvented this writing prompt, didn't I? My first time writing in the second person. This was a complete stream of consciousness type of narrative which I did like, though I only gave myself an hour an fifteen minutes to write this one.

Please review!


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